


Angel

by LamentingQuill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 00:28:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LamentingQuill/pseuds/LamentingQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus stood in the doorway at Grimmauld Place, looking into the bedroom as he leaned against the doorframe. He shouldn't come here. He shouldn't pry into her personal space and spy on her in such a manner. He shouldn't want her. But he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel

** Angel **

by

_Lamenting Quill_

 

* * *

 

 

Remus stood in the doorway at Grimmauld Place, looking into the bedroom as he leaned against the doorframe. He shouldn’t come here. He shouldn’t pry into her personal space and spy on her in such a manner. He shouldn’t want her. But he did.

She was so young… too young. But something about her called to him, touched him in a way he had never before been touched. He supposed Tonks was waiting for him in her own room down the hall, but he never went to her first. He always came here. He knew he was pushing it. One of these times the young witch asleep in the bed would wake and find him, and then what would he say? And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to pass her door without stopping, without reaching out a trembling hand and gripping the cold metal handle, hearing the soft click as the door opened, and then watching her.

It wasn’t merely lust. He knew he felt something for her that he had no right to feel. He had tried to dissuade Tonks’s advances, not merely for the reasons that he had given her, but because of _her_. But he couldn’t tell Tonks someone else held his heart. The hand that held it wasn’t even aware, and he should never have given it to her in the first place. It was wrong. It was wrong. Perhaps if he repeated the phrase enough he would one day truly convince himself.

His eyes drank in the sight of her on the bed. The light from the half-full moon was shining through the parted curtains of her window, splaying across her face and dusting her brown hair with a silver glow. She looked ethereal. Like an angel. To him she was. Black crescents were formed where her eyelashes rested pillowed upon her creamy cheeks, closed lids hiding cinnamon eyes that could take his breath with a simple glance. Eyes he wished would look at him with desire, even though he knew they never would, and he shouldn’t even wish for it.

She was a goddess in his eyes, a goddess of Light and Innocence, and he shouldn’t want her the way that he did, shouldn’t crave the feel of her small, sweet hands, and shouldn’t yearn for kisses from her luscious pink lips. But he did.

Standing there, watching the soft rise and fall of her chest beneath her covers, he committed the sight of her to memory once again. Unfortunately, after his numerous missions for the Order, after days of fighting and watching people die, this image of her he would memorise would become foggy, would be shrouded in the shadows of pain and lethargy. And he would come back, even though he knew he shouldn’t. It was a compromise of her trust invading her space and playing voyeur to her sleeping form. Yet he couldn’t stop.

His body tensed as he watched her move, a soft groan escaping her lips, but her eyes didn’t open. She twisted slightly in her sleep, the cover sliding off her form as she rolled from her side onto her back with a sleep-laden sigh. He swallowed as he took in what she was wearing, a slinky blue negligee that had ridden up her pale thighs in her slumber. His hand convulsively gripped the handle of the door behind him, but he couldn’t bring himself to open it, to deprive his wanting eyes of the sight of her, more exposed than he had ever seen her on these nights.

It was chilly in the room and even from his place at the door he could see the gooseflesh arise on her exposed skin, and even if he had tried to stop his gaze from travelling up her thin arm and landing on her blue silk-covered chest he wouldn’t have been able to. His tongue wet his lips as he struggled not to breathe too loudly in fear of waking his sleeping temptress as his gaze lingered on her hardened nipples, caressed to hardness by the cool draught and straining against the thin fabric covering them.

He unconsciously took a small step forward, arm stretching so his fingers could keep contact with the metal handle, knowing if he let go of the door he would forget himself and go to her. She wasn’t his. He had no right to be here, no right to lust after her, no right to feel anything deeper than lust. He cursed himself, damned himself for his weakness.

She rustled in her sleep again and he held his breath, watching in morbid fascination as her left hand which had been resting across her right shoulder began sliding slowly lower, trailing along the blue silk and to her breast, her hand covering the generous mound. He felt his knees weaken as he saw her fingers tense and heard the whimper fall from her lips. His eyes snapped back up to her face, fear urging him to leave, desire begging him to stay. He was relieved to find her eyes still closed. She must be dreaming. He felt an unjustifiable pang of jealousy for the lucky wizard she was dreaming of, wishing that it was him but knowing it wasn’t.

His eyes followed her other hand that had been lying at her side, but was now trailing up her leg sensuously, and he had no doubts of its destination. His mind was screaming for him to leave, knowing that she would awake any moment, surely. But he was rooted to the spot, unable to look away as her hand disappeared beneath the hem of her nightie and she groaned lowly, sending a rush of desire coursing through his veins. But what happened next caused his heart to lodge itself in his throat, beating wildly and filling his ears with the noise, but not blocking out the words that were spoken in a breathless whisper.

“Remus, come away from the door.”

His eyes snapped up to her face to meet brown eyes, darkened by her desire. A light flush of passion graced her cheeks as her hands continued their ministrations. He was caught. The game was over. He didn’t know what to say. “Hermione… I…” he trailed off as she suddenly sat up, her hair tussled and a gentle smile on her lips that made his fingers tremble in the struggle to remain on the handle.

Her voice was soft as she got to her knees, eyes never leaving his as she began to speak, her hand coming up to lower the strap of her negligee. “Do you think I haven’t been aware of each time you’ve come into my room? Of the endless minutes you stand there, watching me?”

He swallowed roughly, watching the thin blue strap slide down her arm, watched as her hand came to her chest to keep the fabric covering her as she pulled her arm free of the strap, and then proceeded to work on the other. Her words weren’t accusing, but he felt the weight of guilt settle familiarly in his stomach. She knew all the times he had come to her. He had lost count long ago. He struggled for the words to apologise, to make his excuses, but what excuse could he possibly have for this infraction of her trust? “I…”

She chuckled lowly, a sound that sent shivers down his spine. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for you to move away from the door, to come to my bed, to touch me?” Her negligee now was only held up by her hands which were cupping her breasts, keeping the fabric from sliding down her luscious frame as she continued to speak softly. “I always feel the heat of your gaze as you stare at me, setting me on fire. I always long to open my eyes, to see you, but I was afraid you would stop coming. But I can’t take it anymore, Remus,” she whispered.

He watched in a daze as her hands fell to her sides causing her nightie to puddle around her knees on the bed, exposing her fully to him. _Him_. She was even more beautiful than Remus ever imagined. All smooth, creamy skin that begged for his touch, full breasts with erect, rosy nipples that called for him to taste. The siren then licked her lips, running her hands up her thighs, across her stomach, teasing him until he almost broke. Almost. He had to leave, he had to…

“Come away from the door, Remus. Please,” she moaned, “I need you here…” she purred, swirling her fingers around a pebbled nipple as she sensuously arched her back, never removing her fiery gaze from his. “And here…”

Remus groaned as he watched her fingers sweep through her darkened curls as her legs spread wider, and he watched one of her digits disappear as the lucky appendage was buried in her centre. His fingers were straining to stay on the handle as much as his hardened member was straining to reach her. Gods, this would be his death. He was being tested in the most painful way, and he was failing. She wanted him. He had never dreamed she would want him. He shouldn’t take it as justification for his own want, but he was only a man, and a weak one at that. There were a million reasons why he shouldn’t step away from the door, why he shouldn’t go to her. But for the life of him, he couldn’t think of a single one of them right now.

His fingers slipped from the metal, his connection with the door broken, and his feet propelled him without thought to the foot of her bed. He could smell the sweet scent of her arousal, and he watched as she removed her fingers from her sex, saw them glisten with her juices in the moonlight before she sucked them into her mouth. He felt the last of his resolve fade in a flash, repercussions be damned.

He reached out to her, grabbing her arms and jerking them away from her body, gently urging her to lie down which she did without a word, her hair splaying upon her pillow like a halo as he moved around to stand beside the bed. Her eyes fluttered as she looked up at him and he got lost in her lascivious gaze, wondering if he were dreaming. He was standing over her, one hand pinning her wrists above her head, the other going to her cheek, trailing up to tangle in her silky hair.

He bent closer to her, lips hovering just above hers. If he kissed her he knew he would never be able to stop. “Hermione…” he breathed, trying to warn her of this, his control merely hanging on by a thread but she arced her back, her breasts brushing against the fabric of his robes as she tried to get closer to him, and the rest of his words died in his throat and he crushed his lips to hers.

He growled as she flicked her tongue to lick his bottom lip and he opened his mouth, their tongues tangling and instantly battling for dominance. If Heaven had a taste, he surely thought he was experiencing it now, for he had never tasted anything more divine. Distracted by the amazing sensations accosting him, he was taken by surprise when Hermione broke their connection and whispered a breathy incantation that wandlessly removed his clothes, leaving him naked and wanting.

Smirking up at him in a way that made his heart skip a beat, she freed her wrists from his grasp during his lack of attention and before he knew what had happened he found himself being rolled over her to the other side of the bed, landing on his back with the goddess straddling his hips. He gasped at the delicious feel of her wet centre pressed against his arousal and looked up at her, revelling in her passion. Hermione Granger was no school girl anymore, that fact was certain. She was a dazzling, radiant, sensual woman, and gods, he’d never desired anyone so much in his life.

“Hermione...” he groaned, not knowing how to voice his thoughts, not knowing how to tell her the power she held over him, the way he thought of her constantly; not knowing how to tell her that no matter how he wished he could, he could make her no promises. But his lips were stopped from commenting further as a slender finger came to rest on them, and she smiled at him with understanding shadowing the desire in her entrancing eyes.

“I know,” she whispered, before leaning down to replace her finger with her lips, kissing him hungrily and passionately, driving any further thought of talking from his mind with ease.

Remus allowed his eyes to fall closed as he basked in the feel of his deepest, most well-hidden fantasy coming to life. His hands went to work mapping out her back and cataloguing the feel of every inch of her pristine, silken skin. It may be his only night with this magnificent, beautiful being, and he surely wasn’t about to waste the gift being offered him.

Maybe it was wrong to make love to her. Maybe it had been a mistake to ever release the handle of the door. But maybe… maybe it was right.

 

 


End file.
